What Is The Pint Of The Isle?

Speaking of teachers, does anyone remember my science teacher from 4th year? Sound man. Bald head. Round glasses. Slightly Larry David looking. Just not as big a nose. Mr. O’Connor? Doesn’t sound right but pretend so. Anyways, his lessons often used to get lost in translation. Mostly down to his accent. Slightly country-ish. Farmer like. But only on certain words. Out of all the sciences he had a thing for chemistry. Big fan. Always up the top of the class, on his own, experimenting away. Giving you plenty of time to stare out the window. And wonder if you were going bald (I had this weird thing in 4th year where I was convinced I was going bald. Used to have conversations with my biology teacher about it. Me arguing for. Him against. Maybe that is why I let the fro flow. And now have a hedge on my head). Back to Mr. O’Connor. Doing experiments. Liked to spring questions, see if you were following. Every single time, his odd way of saying words would throw me off. So every single time, I would have to tell him… Sir, I have no clue what a pint of isle is? Getting him annoyed. Thinking I was mocking him. Ending in detention. See. He was actually asking what the point of the oil was in the experiment. But seeing as I liked to drift off, I never copped on quickly enough as to what his point ever was. Kind of like you are perhaps wondering now what mine could possibly be. Obviously… Chilean miners! Seriously…

Rar. I'm So Angry...

So I’m not usually an angry ape. Even if lately I have been quite a frustrated ape. Successfully, says I. At least not sexually, says you! Oh Jesus, say my parents. Anyways, on Tuesday, an anger came. Ish. Maybe more frustrated annoyance to the highest degree. Ughatha Christ Almighty kind of anger. Good old stand-up! Mighty release. Mighty way to get you highly annoyed. Particularly when a clown is in charge. My return after a few weeks off. Pumped to go back on. Seeing as my last public bout of stand-up involved me singing a song to make up for the deathly silence (Oh Sweet Jesus… Why Am I Singing?!). Tuesday. Comedy Store. New material. Mixed with tighter old stuff. Dancing, pumped, good to go, sober Joe, laugh on! Up we go. Usual gibber. Show starts at 8. You’ll be on aboot 9…

Some Laugh... Any Laugh

First up… Presenter of the show. Her show. Books everyone. Likes to talk. Likes to offend. Doesn’t seem to like making jokes. Or making people laugh. Also doesn’t seem to mind. Rambles on and on until she finally realises enough is enough. Next up… a gay guy who looked like a chubby Boy George who was apparently on Jay Leno the following night. Next… Little lesbian lady who is aboot 4’9. Tiny. Most of her humour is based on the fact that she is tiny. And a lesbian. Actually a sleazy lesbian at that. First time I’ve ever seen such a combo. Next up… Funny dude. Seen him before. Funny as funk. Thank funk. Finally the audience is warmed up.

Next… Some dude from the audience who caught the presenter off guard by being next to the stage and claiming to be a comedian. Sex Boy Dave, I think he called himself. Owns a sex toy website. Could not muddle up his jokes more if he tried. Gave away free sex toys though, so got a cheer in the end. Next… A lady who only said the following words in her entire act… ‘So I’m in the park, on my laptop, when I see… ‘ And then does 10 minutes of mime. Unfortunately. Not the good kind of mime. Instead. Screaming silence kind of mime. About giving birth to an imaginary which she then lost. Coughs echoing. Just bizarre. Slightly disturbing. Still. She too was up, before me. And so on. And so on. 9 bells come and go. Ten o’clock appears. Still not on. Hunt down the organiser and suss out the story… Much longer? ‘Oh yeah, well the first few acts are all Comedy Central comedians or doing this on TV or on that show, so must keep them happy. You’re on next though, don’t worry’. Tut. Spoof. Ape. Ok. Back out I go. Sit. Wait. And watch…

Gimped. Aped. Angry Boned.

Unfunny. Funny. Funny. Horrendous. Unfunny. Funny-ish. Horrendous. Unfunny. Still not on. Come on to funk. After watching the mime, two things came into play: 1. My ego. Why am I not on? And 2. Telling myself not to be an impatient ape… You’ll get your turn. Patience. But the majority are horrendous! Yeah but who are you to say you should be on ahead of them?! Well. I think I should. Look, ego, calm down. You’re next… Actually this girl is… Patience, just do your set… She told me I was definitely next… Nope. This guy first. Definitely now… Ok maybe not… Calm down, go to your happy place… Ughatha Christ Almighty! No way. No offence but this girl is consistently horrendous week after week. Funk this… Patience? Patience finally agreed with ego… Good duck!

Off I went. Feeling like a chump. Just want to fight the organiser now. Gone. Text my buddies in the audience. Let’s go booze. Headed off down the stairs. Buddies start to follow. Organiser runs out… ‘You’re on next!!! Come back!?’ Duh-dung. Now close to eleven. Duh-dung. I-want-to-punch-you. Duh-dung. Funk it. I’ll do it. Back up I go. Up on stage. Presenter tries to hug me as I go up. Mwweehhh. Just look at her. Make that mmwwehhh noise whatever that was meant to signify. Take the mic. Look out. Not as busy as earlier in the night but still enough of a crowd. Barely. But enough. (Barely). Gripping the mic… I wouldn’t mind smashing it off her he… Duh-dung… Funk it… Just do the act.

If The Chileans Can... !

Did my act. Start off angry. Get into a rhythm. Start flying along. Bouncing stories off the crowd. Goes wonderfully well. Rolling routine. Mighty. Formula, found. Giddy up them steps! Get off the stage. Leave. Pint with my buddies. Went well. Dance on. Happy days. Some ape in charge. Why do I keep going back? Good venue, true. Place to try material, true… Era shur, funk it. Enjoy the night. Dancing night. And then. Get home. Start to ponder… What the funk was the pint of that isle? Seriously. All that annoyance, for what? Gig went well. But still… Why bother? Maybe if you were on earlier in the night. Tut. What was the point? What is the point?! Constantly doing stuff that makes you feel like a frustrated ape?! Skipping down dead ends. Stuff put on pause. Leaving you sitting on a static swing. Legs dangling. Mouth tutting. What is the point? And my answer is…

I’m not too sure. Definitely not monetary. Yet. What I do know, however, is that nothing comes from nothing. So I’m going to go with the whole ‘Something comes from something’. Not sure now exactly what that might be. But there shall be a point for it all. I am sure. Surely. Bigger picture. Plough the funk on. All that gibber. And for some strange reason, as has always been the way for centuries and centuries when people struggled to see the point of their endeavours, I thought of the Chilean miners. If they can stick it out down the mine, I should be able to handle being a frustrated ape drinking pints of isle screaming ughatha christ at the world. Which is my wonderful point! Wasn’t all that well worth it!?! Comparing my plight to that of the miners. Well done me. Narc on. Thank you.

Something Something Something

As I said, all of the above is actually a week old rant from the night of that stand-up gig. Rambling rant over. Let it all out. Cheers blogaruu. Good work on the therapy. Well worth me putting up. Well worth it. Ahem. Pod/vlog anyone? Since this gibber was rambled out, you will be delighted to hear, a few further baby ape steps have been made. Stand-up dancing. New material. Burn fire, burn. Even better. New project. Grab those reins. Swing those legs! Should be a big bucket of fun. Something. Something. Something! More to come. Until then. Song on…

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2 thoughts on “What Is The Pint Of The Isle?”

Like you said, NOTHING COMES FROM NOTHING, and all of the things you are doing now will at the very least give you the sequel to the Randumb adventures. Now I think that would be worth it. Not too shabby for an Irish Mark in L.A.